Je T'aime
by Burning Snow
Summary: SiriusRemus oneshot He said it with a calm, yet serious tone that I had never heard. For Sirius, that tone was an extreme to which he never pushed himself. And yet…here he was, using it in an almost unreal situation: “I have AIDS.”


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

_Pour Kitty. Je t'aime beaucoup, ma copine. _

_Pour Elphie aussi. Tu défiez la gravité! _

**Important: **This is an ENGLISH fanfic. The title and dedications are in French, as well as a couple of lines in the story.

**More Important: **This Sirius/Remus one-shot is told in **both** Remus' and Sirius' point of view. It starts out as **Remus**, and then switches to **Sirius** after the &&&&& breaker, and then switches back to **Remus** after the next &&&&&, and **so on**. Yes, it is SLASH.

**Please enjoy and review!**

…………………

He said it with a calm, yet serious tone that I had never heard. For Sirius, that tone was an extreme to which he never pushed himself.

And yet…here he was, using it in an almost unreal situation.

True, he had been depressed for the past few weeks…he had been avoiding me, becoming suddenly silent or unresponsive…but I supposed he simply missed Harry, or was quietly reliving the terrors of his home of twelve years.

Never could I have imagined a condition this horrifying.

"I have AIDS."

He stared down at the worn wood floor of the study, rightly assuming my silence was one of pure shock and fear.

"It's from Azkaban," he murmured. "The human guards who came in from time to time…they…" He sighed shakily and repeated, "It's from Azkaban."

&&&&&

"It's from Azkaban," I forced myself to say again. My breathing was slightly off, and I could feel sweat forming on my brow.

He remained silent, absorbing my words, contemplating them, analyzing them as if they were a metaphor he couldn't understand.

Remus had always been like that, I suppose. He'd over-analyze every situation until nothing was left of it but the names of those involved and every action had some sort of complex meaning.

But this was different somehow. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, and yet he could find no hidden meaning. Never had he come up with absolutely nothing, except this time…this time, he only had pure fact.

"You have AIDS," he said slowly. "Have you asked…"

"Dumbledore doesn't know what to do," I interjected, saving him the effort. "But he's sure not even Mungo's, if I was capable of being admitted there without being arrested, can cure a Muggle disease of this kind."

He didn't speak again for quite some time, but simply sank into an armchair with a dazed expression on his face. I remained frozen, afraid that my motion would upset him.

"How long?" he finally asked, voice shaking.

&&&&&

"How long?" I questioned. I could feel my body trembling, but I couldn't understand why.

"We can't tell yet," he answered, tone easily as shaky as my own. "It could be three months, or it could be three years. I don't know."

I nodded. "Are you…alright?"

He actually gave a small smile. "Besides being a bit weak on occasion, I feel fine. The question is, are you alright?"

I stood up, despite my legs of lead, and went to him. I placed a hand on his cheek and stared into his eyes.

"I will be," I answered, forcing a smile. It would take time, but I would come to terms with his condition…for his sake.

&&&&&

"I will be," he said, softly smiling, but I could feel the slight quivering of his fearful fingers.

I turned my head to kiss the palm of his hand. He needed reassurance…we both did.

He suddenly pulled me into him, and chills ran up my spine as he brushed his lips against my cheek.

He kissed me then, and I tasted heaven.

"I love you," he whispered, pulling away as a solitary tear ran down his cheek.

"Je t'aime aussi," I murmured in French. He loved French, even if he could not speak it himself. He understood me perfectly, though, and kissed me again.

&&&&&

Six months later, he began to show signs of extreme illness. We both knew it was almost his time.

We lived every day as if it was his last, and rejoiced every morning his eyes fluttered open. We began to set goals, and he pushed his way past every one of them.

"Je t'aime," he'd say to me, and then he'd kiss me with the joy of one who was defying gravity.

Finally, one night as part of our routine I asked, "How much longer? Do you want to try for another week?"

He chuckled weakly. "I don't think so, Remus."

"How long? You've reached every goal and then some. You need another."

He sighed and shook his head. "I'm dying, Remus. I'm exhausted, and I've reached my farthest limits. I don't want to leave you, but I can't go on like this forever. Do you understand?"

I studied his worn, pale features, and I desperately pressed my mouth against his.

When I awoke the next morning, he lay beside me, cold and lifeless. I pulled his body close and whispered the French words he had so often whispered to me.

"Je t'aime, Sirius," I said, a sob escaping my throat. "Je t'aime."


End file.
